


Stuck Together (TO BE REWRITTEN)

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Anxiety, Bara Sans (Undertale), Bara Underfell Sans (Undertale), Body Image, Bodyswap, Chubby Reader, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Making This Up As I Go, No beta reader, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route - "I want to stay with you.", Reader is male, Slow Burn, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Unrequited Crush, Y/N is basically an oc, Yearning, blurring identities, is it ebott?, it's mental illness innit, male reader - Freeform, probably, probably going to add more tags, sans is a brat he just needs to accept it, submissive sans, you live in a city
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As the old saying goes, "When life gets rough, all you have to do is assume someone else's body and identity and move on with their life." Good advice.(REWRITE EXPLANATION CHAPTER 8)
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 38
Kudos: 99





	1. Soda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Soda" is a song by Nothing But Thieves, more after the chapter.

You come to, blinking into darkness. Did you black out? You suppose it would make sense after the… rough night you had last night. You’re just surprised… well it didn’t matter now. You should get cleaned up if you’re just now waking up. You wonder what time it is, so you search for your phone. Your hands scuffle around your bed area, but something feels unfamiliar, like you don’t know where to look for your phone. You flop off the mattress slowly, and you find your phone on the floor nearby. The light blooms from your phone, illuminates your arm and the floor below. Then you feel a strange sensation of sinking, like shuffling back into your skull to get away from what you were seeing. You aren’t in your room. You’re in someone else’s room. Dirty laundry, stained carpet, the smell of must and… bones. Alone in someplace you don’t know, panic begins to set in. You want to hyperventilate, but somehow you can’t. You roll onto your back, then onto your side, then curl up into a ball, trying to understand what happened after you blacked out.

Backtrack. You try to think of everything you can remember before now. You got home from work, went to bed. You went on your phone to try to ignore the thoughts that had plagued you all day. Your phone didn’t distract well enough. The last thing you remembered, it felt like your soul was leaving your body, like you were dying. You remembered crying out for help, for somebody. For a moment, you felt like the call was echoing back to you. Then it was black. That is all you can remember.

You sit up, feeling strangely unaccustomed to the motion of it. Did someone hear your cry for help? Did they take you here? You stand and start reaching for a wall. Something is off. Your center of gravity felt out of place. You step forward, stumble, and fall to the ground with a loud clatter. You feel oddly heavy, heavier than usual. You know by now that something is wrong. You need to find a light-switch and figure out what’s going on. Getting back up, you step with care until you find a wall, feeling across its expanse for a switch. Your hands elicit a gentle scratching noise as they pass along the wall, almost like claws. The wall-groping goes on for about a minute before you finally find something, a light-switch! You eagerly flip it on, desperate to find some clarity about your situation. You were not prepared to find your hand deathly white, leading down to an equally pale arm, much thicker than what you were used to.

You are stunned to silence. Your eyes feel small, and your guts feel heavy, pulling down, sinking. You want to throw up. You just stare at the hand that flipped the switch. It’s big, much bigger than your own. It was a dull white, tainted by dirt and grime. Each finger is separated into three distinct phalanges, the tips of which seem lightly powdered with a faint white dust. The metacarpal bones look wrong, all fused together to create a solid hand without any visible space between each bone. A clutter of smaller, fused bones lead down to the radius and ulna of your forearm. Even those are thick and fused together, creating a warped image of a human skeleton. You pick at the crevices between the bones, desperately trying to find your real body underneath. You only succeed in hurting yourself. Somehow, this body is yours to feel and control. You’re afraid to look down, petrified that you won’t find your real body, just a skeleton. Your eyes don’t even cooperate, refusing to peek down.

If you can’t force yourself to look down, you’ll find another way. You teeter back from the wall. Your legs shuffle awkwardly towards the closet. It seems you’re in someone’s bedroom. Dirty laundry, stains, cords, food wrappers, and collars litter the floor. What kind of person takes such poor care of their room? Your feet kick the random items aside, and you reach the closet. You pull one closet door open and freeze upon finding a large, shirtless skeleton staring back at you.

“AGH!” You trip and fall backwards in surprise, causing another ruckus as you crash to the floor. Who the hell is that? Your breaths come harsh and fast as you struggle to calm yourself. The skeleton is gone. You crane your neck and peer at the closet door, noticing the skeleton lying on the ground just as you are. You sit up and stare into the skeleton’s dark eyes, illuminated solely by white specks of light. You can’t believe it. You don’t _want_ to believe it. That skeleton you’re seeing… is your own reflection in the closet mirror. A skeleton, a monster.

The skeleton’s chest – _your chest_ – rises and falls with panicked breaths. You scooch closer to the mirror. This can’t be real. You feel lightheaded as you closely examine this face. It has the subtle texture and grooves of bone, which only further confirms your fear. It’s mostly gritty with faded stains and grime, but the under-eyes are clean. They even seem wet. The mouth is nearly closed. A dark void is visible behind the rows of sharp teeth, one golden tooth shining independently. You look at this face, and its eyes plead with you. This face – _your face_ – looks so lost, so afraid, so deeply sad.

“SANS.” A harsh voice pounds through the door, “YOU’D BETTER BE AWAKE IN THERE. DO NOT FORGET WE HAVE LUNCH WITH HER MAJESTY TODAY!” The owner of the voice waits outside the door, and you struggle to come up with a response. Who is he to you?

“Uhhh… Yeah! Wide awake in here!” you call back, hoping with your entire being that he won’t come in.

“VERY FUNNY.” The voice grumbles with disapproval, “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THAT SARCASM AROUND HER MAJESTY. BE READY IN THIRTY MINUTES.” The person walks away, and you let out a long sigh of relief. Half-an-hour? That’s plenty of time, sure. All you have to do is flawlessly assume a stranger’s identity. No pressure.

You stand before the mirror, appraising yourself. You’re dressed only in shorts, leaving your chest and… belly exposed. So strange, a skeleton but not quite. There’s a strong sense of disconnect from what you’re seeing. It’s very obvious, but this isn’t your body. Even when you stare right at it, touch its face, feel the bones underhand, it feels fake and distant. You zone out, disconnect from this perception, and you only return to reality when you feel a sharp pain of scratching on your face. You stop yourself from continuing to dig into your poor face, noting a slight puff of dust on the finger that was scratching. You wipe the dust off your fingers, causing a series of clacks and clicks as your fingers tap into each other. You turn to the closet, and search for something clean to wear. Blacks, reds, greys, such a vibrant sense of color this guy has. You grab a big grey sweater and pull it over your head, fussing for a moment to pull it down onto your broad torso. How charming. The grey sweater and black shorts make a nice enough combo, time for socks. There isn’t a single pair of socks in the nearby dresser. Every sock must be on the floor. You cringe as you pull a couple of dirty socks onto your bony feet. It’s so peculiar to do such a normal task in someone else’s body, feeling the subtle differences of routine and habit. There are a few pairs of shoes piled near the closet, from which you take a pair of sneakers. It’s a similar struggle to get those on and tie them; you even forget how to tie them for a couple minutes.

You look at him… _yourself_ in the mirror again. Well, it isn’t so bad. You look nice enough. Worried that you might have exceeded your thirty minutes, you hurriedly open the door and become quickly disoriented by walking out to an apartment you’ve never seen before. You whip your head left and right, searching for whoever was yelling at you before. A tall, imposing skeleton stomps out of the kitchen and scoffs,

“SANS! SERIOUSLY, GET DRESSED! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE, AGAIN!” You don’t know what’s missing. How could you know? You freeze up and just stare at him quietly. “UGH… BROTHER! FINE. IF YOU’RE GOING OUT WITHOUT YOUR JACKET THEN FINE. LET’S GET A MOVE ON.” You blink and move to go back to the closet.

“Oh! Uh, sorry bro, didn’t even notice. Be right out.” You shut the door as soon as you get in the room alone. Your heart should be racing, but you suppose you don’t have one of those anymore. Instead, your whole body is shaking rapidly, almost imperceptible to outsiders but very intense for you. You search the closet frantically, not finding a jacket in there. You find a huge leather jacket on the floor and throw it on, feeling much more at ease as soon as it’s on. You grab at the leather, touching it nervously. It’s comforting. You step back out of your room and stuff your hands into your pockets. Your fingers play around with the material inside.

“STARS, SANS, IT’S A WONDER YOU GOT BY UNDERGROUND WHEN YOU CAN HARDLY LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT SOMETHING GOING WRONG. LET’S JUST HURRY AND HOPE THE QUEEN DOESN’T DUST US FOR BEING LATE.” You silently nod and meet your brother at the door out of the apartment. It’s going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have guessed, but each chapter is going to be a music reference of some kind. I really suggest that you go check all these songs out! "Soda" really hits, like on so many levels. I can't say it enough, please go check this song out, and the rest of the album if you like it.  
> This is my first fanfic like ever, so I really hope it comes out alright. I don't have HUGE specific plans about how this story's gonna go, so it might get a bit wonky. I hope not. I'll try my best to update every week, probably Sunday or Monday. Huge thanks to anyone who reads this and likes it.  
> See you next week :)


	2. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" is a song by The Beatles, more after the chapter.

The taller skeleton leads both of you out of the apartment building and into the parking lot. You examine this other skeleton, who you assume is your brother. He’s dressed in a cropped jacket and long, bold pants. He seems much more fashionable than his brother, which makes you mildly jealous. What’s this guy’s name? Also, why are you going out to lunch with the queen? Which queen? You don’t know how you’ll react if this skeleton sits you down for tea with the Queen of England... No, you’re being silly. It’s probably the Queen of Monsters, who you’ve fortunately seen before on the internet. That knowledge doesn’t still your nervousness, and you can only hope that the queen won’t realize you aren’t the guest she’s expecting. You remain lost in thought as you get into a convertible with your brother and speed off.

Cool autumn wind sings past your face, flowing over your skull in whips and waves. It doesn’t hurt or freeze at all, just a chill sense of comfort washing over your bones, which is very welcome considering your anxiety. You’re not sure where you are, or where you’re going. As you both coast uptown, your brother cocks his head toward you,

“YOU REALLY HAD BETTER BEHAVE BEFORE THE QUEEN, BROTHER. SHE HAS BEEN INCONCEIVABLY BUSY AS OF LATE, AND IT IS OUR DUTY TO PREVENT ANY FURTHER STRESS FROM BOGGING HER DOWN TODAY.” You’re pretty sure that isn’t your duty, but what do you know? You simply mumble,

“No problem, bro, I’ll be on my best behavior.” He looks at you sourly, causing a spike of fear in your chest. He turns back to the road, still scowling.

“DID YOU SLEEP ENOUGH LAST NIGHT? YOU ARE ACTING VERY PECULIAR.” You shake quietly. You’re tempted at first to deny, but maybe he’ll stop asking if you just agree.

“Not the best. I’ll try not to fall asleep at lunch…” You trail off, hoping that will satisfy him. It seems to do the trick, as he leaves you alone for the rest of the drive.

Pulling into a café parking lot, you let your brother take the lead. You drag your feet behind him, sincerely hoping that this won’t be a disaster. He marches ahead to the front of the café where a lone goat-monster sits in a deep green gown. Her eyes are a hard red, stark, confidently meeting the skeleton’s approach. Your brother reaches her table and kneels before her,

“YOUR MAJESTY! I MUST APOLOGIZE FOR OUR LATENESS! A CERTAIN LAZY SKELETON WAS TAKING HIS SWEET TIME GETTING UP!” The monster chuckles lightly, a sense of exhaustion present in her smile.

“Please, Papyrus, it’s really not an issue. I’m just glad to see you both.” Your brother – Papyrus, it seems – steps aside to make way for you. She looks in your eyes, and her face drops. You shudder under her glare and avert your eyes, quick to greet her,

“Hey there, your majesty!” You don’t know what to say. Her face is unreadable as she looks to Papyrus.

“Feel welcome to have a seat, boys.” You hurry to the seat across from hers, and Papyrus sits between you both at the round café table. Burying your face in your menu, you avoid eye contact at all costs. Papyrus hums as he reads through the menu.

“HMMM… ALL OF THIS GREASE-FOOD, AND NOT ONE PASTA DISH. WHAT SORT OF RESTAURANT IS THIS?” The queen glances up from her menu and smiles,

“My apologies, Papyrus, I’ll try to find a place with spaghetti next time. You should try the spinach frittata. It is very good.” Her eyes shift, “What do you think, Sans?” Your eyes remain intently fixed on the menu, unable to focus on reading the options. “Sans?” You snap out of your daze, looking up quickly to find the queen searching your eyes. Shit! You weren’t listening at all! You look back at the menu and lock onto the first thing you see.

“Oh! Uh, the French toast looks pretty tasty…” Papyrus scoffs,

“ONLY YOU COULD EAT SOMETHING SO DISGUSTINGLY SWEET.” The queen is still staring at you, watching for something. You feel a slight shake coming on, eyes darting back and forth.

“Well ya know, I’m just such a sweetheart, can’t resist.” You smile tensely, hoping desperately for either of them to react. The queen chuckles quietly, almost falsely, letting the stare off you. You feel a crushing weight lifted from your chest once she looks away, so you sigh with relief. You look away, trying to find some calm in this mess. Your eyes pass over the milky blue sky of an early afternoon, leafy green plants hanging from baskets and windows nearby, small orange flowers, subtle hints of soft green reflected in the buildings and sidewalks. It’s so serene, so opposite to how you’re feeling. You just want to go home.

Your daze is broken again by a waitress coming to take the orders for the table. Papyrus is sure to tell the waitress just how inattentive the owners were to exclude pasta from their menu. She’s a bit thrown off by the complaint, but she “promises” that she’ll let the owners know. Two spinach frittatas, French toast, water, orange juice, and tea and the order is set. The conversation is mostly kept between Papyrus and the queen, one of them occasionally dragging you in for brief exchanges. The food’s arrival signals a bit of relief for you, as you can just bury your face in the food without worrying about too much talking. You happily attempt dig into the French toast but stop. You’re a skeleton. Well, that isn’t quite right, you’re a monster. It’s safe to _assume_ that you can eat, but you don’t even have a tongue. You cut off a piece of toast, lifting the dripping bite to your mouth, and scraping it into your mouth past your teeth. The food slips inside and begins to break apart thoroughly. Bright swirls of flavor dance through your mouth, down your throat, and into your stomach. You smile with surprise at your success, not even fully sure what happened. Safe to keep eating, you wolf down bite-after-bite, relishing in the generous pours of syrup and strawberry topping. So sweet and delicious, you hope that you’ll be able to leave quickly after finishing up your food, but you’re content to enjoy it. At least, until a clatter and gasp disturb your eating. You look up to see a glass of orange juice spilled all over Papyrus’ lap, the queen offering sincere apologies.

“ER- IT IS NOTHING, YOUR MAJESTY! I WILL RETURN MOMENTARILY!” Papyrus storms into the café, seeking out a bathroom. You look back to the table, finding the queen staring into your eyes with an air of confidence and purpose. She places the overturned glass upright and wipes her paw clean of the juice.

“Is something bothering you?” She begins, “You seem different today, Sans.” You’re already shaking in your seat, and you can’t bear to look at her eyes. Your hands grasp desperately onto the bottom of your jacket, fearful of what the queen might do. She reads the sudden tension on your face, “Or, am I speaking to someone else?” She knows! Does she know? You seriously hope she’s just guessing. You don’t want to know what could happen to you if the queen of monsters figures out that you somehow stole a monster’s body.

“Huh! No clue what you mean, your majesty.” The stress is audible in your voice. There’s no way you can hold this act together.

“I just thought it was curious. I mean, this is the first time you’ve called me ‘Your majesty’.” You freeze. What?! What else do you call her? There’s no way this guy’s on a first-name basis with the Queen of Monsters!

“Oh, well! You know! I’m just feelin’ real respectful today!” You flash her a canny smile. Shit, you’re totally breaking character.

“Oh,” She speaks with a tone of mocking and assuredness, “And I suppose that’s why you’ve changed all your mannerisms as well?” She just keeps breaking you down. You don’t even know why you’re still here. It would be much easier to just run away, but then you’d probably end up in a much worse situation than now. Still, there isn’t anything you can say… should you just agree?

_Yeah, I just thought it’d be super funny to change my whole personality for a day, just for funsies._

She hasn’t stopped staring at you, at your eyes. You’re starting to become genuinely afraid of her. You wish you could just _tell_ her that you’re just some poor human that got stuck in a monster’s body by accident. Can you? No way it could just be that easy…

“Uh- well, it’s just- I…” An idea comes to mind. If she wants to do all this implying, then she’ll have to say it out loud. “Jeez, what’re you tryin’ to say, your majesty?” Her smile drops, and she zones in on you. You can feel her eyes looking into you, holding you still and reaching inside, searching. You sink into your seat.

“Papyrus won’t be long in the bathroom, human. I’m demanding you tell me what happened.” You shrivel down into your jacket. She knows. Not only that, she’s waiting for an answer. You really wish you could say, but as panic sets in, you realize that you have no idea what happened last night. Well, you _know_ what happened. You blacked out, but there’s no memory loss. You fell asleep and woke up in this body. That’s all. “Now, human.”

“I don’t know! I passed out and when I woke up this morning, I was like this!” Her eyebrows jump up; she wasn’t really expecting any confessions. However, her surprise quickly turns to contemplation. She glances behind you.

“We’ll continue this conversation after lunch.” You blink, then hear the light-footed steps of Papyrus approaching the table. He takes a seat. “Welcome back, Papyrus. I hope the juice came out alright?” Papyrus smirks and puffs up his chest.

“IT WAS NO TROUBLE AT ALL, YOUR MAJESTY. THESE PANTS WILL FOREVER BEAR THE HONOR OF HAVING JUICE SPILLED ON THEM BY THE QUEEN OF ALL MONSTERS!” She laughs.

“Well, if you say so.” The lunch goes on without any issues. You struggle to quell your shaking bones, which no one else seems to notice. Everyone finishes their meals, and the waitress takes the dirty dishes and leaves a bill. Papyrus tries to pay, but the queen stops him, insisting that she pay. Papyrus refuses to allow her to cover the whole bill – which was only about 40 dollars – so she agrees to split it. Papyrus exchanges goodbyes with the queen, then takes your arm.

“COME ALONG, BROTHER. LET US GIVE THE QUEEN THE REST OF HER DAY TO RELAX.” Your eyes flip between him and the queen while you try to break away from Papyrus.

“Ah, Papyrus! That won’t be an issue! I actually wanted to speak with Sans for a bit.” Papyrus balks at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll send him home in one piece.” Papyrus’ face is blank. He’s menacing when he’s frozen like that.

“HMPH! I SHAN’T BE ONE TO JUDGE YOUR CHOICE OF COMPANY, YOUR MAJESTY. SANS! BEHAVE.” He lets you go, and you’re glad to stumble over towards the queen, even if you may be in trouble.

“Thank you, Papyrus. Have a pleasant day.”

“Heh, yeah. See ya later, bro!” Papyrus bows to the queen and takes off to the car. You are alone with the Queen of Monsters. Her head turns down to you.

“Thank you for not running away. Tell me your name.” You watch the car take off, idly wondering how you’ll get back to their apartment. You turn and look up at the Queen, who is waiting for an answer.

“Oh! Y/N. It’s Y/N.” Your words stumble from your mouth. That’s the first time you’ve said your own name in this deep, foreign voice, so rumbly and low. The queen peers down on you, seeming to ponder something momentarily. Then she speaks,

“And my name is Toriel. Is it true that you don’t know how this happened?” You nod, and her expression remains fixed, full of thought. She looks away, you’re about to speak up when she says, “Do you live nearby?” You blink. How had you not thought of that?

“Oh, well,” You turn to read the sign above the café, which reads ‘Savoy Truffle’. A nearby road-sign also clues you in, this is 61st Street. “Looks like my apartment should only be a few blocks away.” She looks relieved to hear that, and you can’t disagree with her. She beckons you to walk ahead,

“No sense in delaying then. Lead the way, stranger.” You step in front, glancing around for familiar streets or destinations. You spot a bright red-fronted thrift store you’ve frequented, cozy between red bricks and neighboring shop-houses.

“Gotcha, right this way, Miss Toriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" is such a nice song, especially the imagery. Yall should give it a listen. The whole thing with these music references is that I'm picking music that's relevant to either the story, or the characters, or the vibes, so I feel like it adds to the experience to give the songs a shot. Also, there's another music reference in this chapter, but I'm not telling you where! You must find it yourself >:)  
> I hope yall are excited to see the story start ramping up in the next couple chapters.   
> See you next week :)


	3. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Homeward Bound" is a song by Simon and Garfunkel, more after the chapter.

Passing by the thrift store and the rows of red brick, cement pillars, food stands, and greenery baskets, you feel a sense of euphoria. Ever since you woke up back in this guy’s – Sans’ – apartment, you’ve only wanted to go home. Even just getting thrown off your rhythm is sufficient to make you anxious, so ending up submerged in someone else’s life and affairs? The anxiety has had you on edge all day. You cut through some smaller streets to speed up the journey, but the walk still feels very long. You lead Toriel several blocks down to the 59th Street Bridge that leads to the neighborhood your apartment building is in. River waters shush under the bridge, and the familiar sound brings you some comfort as you travel. It’s possible that you underestimated just how far Savoy Truffle is from your apartment, as you’re huffing as you power across the bridge. But the relief of going home, feeling the rushing wind of cars crossing the bridge, it evens out the growing exhaustion. Toriel doesn’t have nearly as much trouble, keeping good pace with you. She’s been quiet, just following behind you. You don’t know what she’s thinking. All you can hope is that you find Sans in your apartment, because if he isn’t there, you don’t know what you’ll do.

Soft red bricks and black iron fire-escapes are coming into view. Having crossed the bridge, your apartment building is in clear view. That sense of growing joy grows larger in your chest, and you pick up the pace despite your tiredness. Only a couple blocks away. Toriel speeds up as well, but you forget that she’s even following as you get closer and closer to home. You reach the stoop of the door to the building, finally home. The front door swings open eagerly, seeming glad to welcome you back. Toriel shuts the door behind you, while you’re already dashing up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Another set of stairs and you’re on the third floor, your floor. You wait at the door for Toriel, who ascends the stairs with the pace of a snail. You’re nearly bouncing in anticipation, bobbing around on your heels as Toriel finally arrives.

“This is your apartment?” She asks, glancing at the door. You nod and reach for the doorknob. You twist the knob, and the door clicks open. It isn’t locked. In you both go, flick on the lights, and you’re glad to see your living room and kitchen are untouched by strangers. The rooms are quiet, completely still. You smile and sigh as you pass the kitchen on your left; your soft blankets are still on the old couch in front of you. You grab one and press the plush fabric between your hard fingers. It’s a strange way of feeling, but the sensation is still just as comforting as ever. You decide to bring the blanket back to its rightful place in bed, turning right towards your room. Toriel follows through your open bedroom door with a face full of thought but not betraying any clear emotion. You sight the old queen mattress your aunt gave you before you moved away. In a fit of fatigue and relief, you throw yourself down on the soft bed, which causes a hefty croak of springs underneath. Your face nestles into comfy embrace with your pillows. You cuddle the soft blanket under you, and you feel you could fall asleep just like this. Toriel stands nearby with her hands linked, examining the rest of your semi-unkempt room. There’s a smell as well, something pleasantly familiar that you never noticed before. The distant breath of lavender and clean laundry seems so distinct now that you’ve picked it out. Smells like home. There’s also the faintest scent of salt. From half-outside the room, Toriel calls to you,

“Y/N, would you care to come investigate?” You peer across the room at her, wishing that you could say no and take a nap right here, but you know better than that. You roll over towards the edge of the bed.

“Sure, any clues?” You heft up off the bed, already sad to feel the warmth seep out of your front side.

“Well, as I’m sure you noticed, Sans isn’t here.” Standing next to her now, you just nod slowly. Wonder where he went? “That means you’re not here. He went somewhere in your body.” Ah, that’s it. You felt like you had been missing something, and now the reality of that statement is dawning on you. He could be literally anywhere in this entire city. You look back at your nightstand, phone’s gone. He left with it and went who knows where. You start digging around through your stuff, looking desperately for any indications of where he went. There’s nothing, no note, no disheveled furniture, no footprints, no evidence of anything unusual.

You rush out of your room, past the bathroom which Toriel seems to be investigating. The kitchen might have something. Cold air wafts from nearby, and you find the refrigerator door cracked open! You shut it with the irrational hope that you’ll magically save all the cold that’s been pouring from it all day. Then you think to actually search inside. You sort through all the shelves and compartments, finding that nothing obvious is missing. You turn to the counter on your left and find what must have been taken out. It’s a single bottle of yellow mustard. Why? That’s all he took out? The cap isn’t even closed, so you’re probably going to need to replace it. The nearby sink holds a faint yellow stain by the drain. You mutter to yourself, wondering just what sort of nut you switched bodies with.

Toriel comes out of the bathroom empty-handed. You both scour the living room, still finding nothing. You rub your face with your hard hands, frustrated and tired. You sink down into the dingy couch and stare into the blank TV. Toriel sits down beside you, also keeping her eyes ahead. You don’t know what to do. There’s no way you can find out where he went. You just really hope he’s safe, because you want a living body to go back to after this is all done. You place your head in your hands, leaning in on yourself. The pointy tips of your fingers dig slightly into your face, and you don’t stop them. You’re screwed, so hopelessly screwed.

A gentle hand rubs your back. Even through thick leather, fluff, and sweater, you can feel a motherly intent behind her paw. Your fingers stop scratching. She speaks like a mother too,

“We’ll find him. I know Sans; he won’t just disappear on us.” You look vaguely towards her, still resting your head in one hand. “He may even have had the same idea as us. Perhaps we should backtrack.” Now you do look at her, with open eyes. She’s right. She has to be. Why else would this guy up and leave? Where would he even go? You rise from the couch with purpose and look to the door. Toriel stands up as well, and your eyes flick to her for the briefest moment,

“Yeah, let’s go.” She nods with a determination that matches the stirring feeling in your head. You don’t have a key, so you leave the door again unlocked.

It doesn’t take long to reach the bridge, only being a couple blocks from home. The bridge feels so long, though. You’re still fatigued from today’s stress, which has you bracing more and more on the bridge railing. You glance down at the chugging water below, so calm and steady, and you lean over to get a better look. It feels soothing to watch, so you wait for Toriel to catch up while you catch your breath. The water looks calm from here, but you know that the current is a strong rush just below the surface. You’re so entranced by the movement that you don’t notice Toriel beside you, waiting for you to get moving again. Your eyes flick up towards her, “Oh, uh, sorry. Just catching my breath.” She exhales and smiles with understanding,

“Of course. If I wasn’t sure before, I’m sure now that you can’t be Sans.” Your brow-bones crease.

“Why’s that?”

“Sans can’t hustle like that,” A genuine bout of laughter escapes her, probably for the first time all day. “You have the grace of a baby deer and the speed of a train! I think you even knocked a couple people over!” Your face goes hot and you look fervently back for your path of destruction while she laughs. You don’t see any commotion, so you hope she’s just joking with you. You never really know for sure when people are kidding or not. Her laughter has a lifting effect, though, which rises a few chuckles from you.

You turn around casually and lean your back against the steel railing, hands fiddling around in your pockets. You glance at the other walkway across the road. It’s getting later in the day, so not many people are out crossing the bridge. You notice one person though, standing perfectly still on the other side of the bridge. A car passes between you, and you look a bit closer at him after it’s passed. He looks familiar. He’s also staring at you. Not just staring, mouth-open gaping at you and Toriel. His face contorts and he shouts,

“HEY!” That’s weird, that guy kind of sounds like— “YOU! BONEHEAD!” He lifts a leg and climbs over the railing between the walking-path and the road. You look frantically for any approaching cars, throwing up your hands defensively.

“Woah! Watch out!” A car flies by in front of you, and he keeps approaching.

“shut the fuck up! you fuckin’ creep…” Toriel is by your side, almost ready to guard you from his continued approach. He vaults over the last railing between you and grabs you by the collar of your sweater. You cower and look down at the man who has you in his hands. That face so sour with rage… is yours.

Toriel grabs his arm and pulls him off you with fire in her eyes. You watch your own face shrink with fear, and you suddenly feel the most disconnected from reality since this all started. “woah! cool it, Tori! it’s me! it’s sans!”

“Huh? Sans?” She loosens her grip, and he slips out of her paws. He fixes his mussed shirt with a huff. You and Toriel both share a look of awe and shock at the shorter human between you. His eyes fix on yours, and you look away in a panic. His finger drives straight into your chest as he backs you up against the railing. Your back hits the railing. You hear the rush of powerful waters below, and you hear your own voice, your real voice,

“you’ve got some fuckin’ explainin’ to do, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter's not a classic rock song. But listen, "Homeward Bound" is just perfect for this chapter, so go give it a listen. I also hid another song reference in there, but you'll probably be able to figure it out. If you didn't figure out the hidden reference last chapter, it was "Savoy Truffle" by The Beatles.  
> Woops, looks like Sans found you. Time to start figuring out what happened to you two.  
> See you next week :)


	4. Rose-Colored Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rose-Colored Boy" is a song by Paramore, more after the chapter.

Toriel is stuck between you two, trying desperately to mediate.

“Sans, do you two know each other?” She sounds shaken up. The human looks up at her with a face of baffled confusion. You look down at him, feeling so alienated from the world. You study his face – your face – with such a strange sense of disconnect and something almost like déja vu.

“well, no! course I don’t know this guy! he’s just some creep who stole my fuckin’ body.” Sans stammers out an answer, which doesn’t give any of you more clarity about what happened. Toriel pinches the bridge of her nose,

“Sans, did he really steal it or are you just assuming that? Because it doesn’t seem like _either_ of you has any idea what they’re talking about.”

“wh- Tori! the hell are you talkin’ about? some guy up and body-snatches me and you’re takin’ his side?”

“Sans,”

“and whadda you care anyway? it’s my body, my business!”

“Sans!” Toriel cuts him off, her face the most upset it’s been all day. Her red eyes look like simmering magma burning into Sans. “I have had a _very_ long day dealing with this mess on what was _supposed_ to be my one day off. No nonsense from government officials, no calls from school, no drama, only to find out that you two got your souls screwed up and switched bodies. Now I want you to please, shut your mouth, friend, and let us resolve the situation.” You can see sweat beading on his forehead – well, your forehead. He’s visibly shaken up by her outburst, but you aren’t worried about him. You find yourself fixating on a couple things she said.

“Uhh sorry, souls?” They both wind on you, making you instantly regret speaking up. Sans seems to have regained his fire.

“thought I told you to shut up, bonehead!” He’s throwing his fists around, jabbing and poking and pointing at you, and you’re becoming only more aware of the size difference between you. You’ll grant that you didn’t feel particularly small or weak in your own body, but in the body of this huge skeleton, he really can’t threaten you very much. It feels a bit silly to have been cowering away from him only a moment ago. You put up your palms in a placating motion,

“Hey, maybe you should listen to Toriel, man. Seems like she knows what she’s talking about.” His face goes fully red, which you’ve never seen your face do so severely. This level of anger, despite his size, is starting to scare you.

“oh, you fuckin’ prick. I am gonna _BEAT_ YOUR ASS!” Sans lunges toward you. Toriel tries to stop him,

“Wait, Sans!” but it’s too late. He tackles you, and while the force isn’t quite enough to knock you over, you seem to be falling.

Falling,

falling,

falling…

You both land in a scuffle of flesh and bone against a hard brick wall, then falling onto the dirty ground together. Your eyes fly around, trying to grasp where you landed, if not the bridge or the river. A wave of nausea and tightness washes over you, blurring your vision as you dry-heave in the dirt. You hear gagging next to you, and you spot a vision of yourself looking sick. With the feeling of vertigo subsiding, you move to comfort him, you. He’s dressed funny, like a funhouse version of yourself. He’s wearing one of your leather jackets, and a pair of shirt and shorts that you would never wear. Still, though, you’re looking down at yourself. You rub his back, which is a strange feeling. It reminds you of a long time ago when you were sick with a stomach virus, and mom stayed with you, rubbing your back, bringing you fresh blankets, cups of ginger ale. He stops gagging and groaning and throws an arm back at you, knocking you away.

“don’t fuckin’ touch me, you freak.” He slumps back against the brick wall behind him. You look around and feel a sinking sensation as you realize you’re in an alleyway. It doesn’t make sense, you both should have dropped into the water after he tackled you, or stayed on the bridge! Instead, you somehow landed in an unpaved alleyway. Sans looks exhausted sitting across from you.

“What happened?” He looks incredulous,

“pfff! what happened? why don’t you tell me, kid?”

“What are you- no, not that. I mean just now when we fell. Where are we?” He laughs rudely, then looks around and examines the surroundings.

“think I dropped us off down the street from your place.” Your face twists up with confusion, and you stumble to the opening of the alley, from which you spot some neighboring apartments and cars. Sans is right; you’ve both miraculously appeared a block away from your apartment.

“Wait. What? You dropped us off? What are you talking about?” He rolls his eyes. You never thought you could look so bitchy, but Sans is really showing your true potential.

“it’s called a shortcut, kid.”

“That’s one hell of a shortcut if it got us here in the blink of an eye.” He’s not making sense, and your frustration is becoming more audible.

“shortcuts, blinks, teleports, it’s all the same idea, kid. try to keep up. now you wanna explain to me how we got like this?” The harsh grinding of your teeth is making you cringe, but you can’t help it. You’re not taking any more of this guy’s belittling and rudeness.

“Excuse me, asshole! Are you serious? You’re telling me you just fucking magically teleported us across the block and you’re asking _me_ what happened to us? It was probably your ass who got us fucked up!” You start cornering Sans against the wall, using your size to your advantage and looming over him aggressively. He’s avoiding eye contact and maintaining a quiet anger just beneath the surface as you back him up. “And another thing, stop calling me ‘kid!’ It’s fucking pretentious as hell.” He mumbles something too muddled for you to make out. You grab his arm, clutching it tight in your big, hard hand. “Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other until we fix this shit-!” _KLOK!_ A harsh burst of dust clouds your vision as you stagger back and clatter to the ground. You clutch a hand against the throbbing pulse of pain on your cheekbone. You look up and see yourself standing over you; anger, fear, and regret rising on your face. You feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes. Sans looks down on himself, seeing a skeleton with tears in his eyes. Neither of you can seem to look away. _He’s afraid._

“sh- shit! sorry! I didn’t mean-!” He reaches a hand towards you, which you flinch away from. His hand pulls back, and he looks away. You blink away tears of pain as you look at this image of yourself so full of shame. You feel a heat in your face as you stand up, wallowing in the same embarrassment as Sans. Neither of you looks at the other. He scratches at his neck; you fiddle around with your jacket. You want to say something, but the fear of saying something wrong keeps you quiet. In your peripherals, he looks up at you. “huhgghhhh… you’re right. we’ve gotta work together if we wanna fix this shit. so I’m uh… sorry.” He extends a soft hand toward you. You’re wary, but his words sound genuine. You choose to believe him, reaching to meet the small human hand with your own big, bony hand. Your hand is almost big enough to envelope his, but you shake on your uneasy trust in each other. Then there is a sudden feeling of a severe drop.

Falling,

falling,

falling…

You land together in your apartment, this time not collapsing on the ground. Instead, you both tumble onto your bed. Another round of groaning and heaving passes before either of you can speak. You grumble deep in your chest and roll over in the mess of blankets, then feeling a nagging confusion in your head.

“Wait… we...?” You sort through the mess of the day in your head, shooting up when it comes to you, “Shit! We forgot Toriel!” Sans bolts up next to you with a matching expression of surprise and wide eyes staring ahead. He cracks a nervous smile,

“heh… it’s no problem. she’ll be fine without us. she’s _goat_ some magic of her own.” You want to laugh. You really do, but it’s too soon.

“Well, we have to let her know we’re ok. We just disappeared right in front of her.” You look him up and down, “Do you have my phone?”

“oh yeah!” He fishes it from his pocket and hands it to you, “I tried to crack the code, thought maybe your hands would remember it. but nah, guess your body wasn’t giving any _hand-outs_.” You shoot him a small glance as you turn on your phone. The familiar lock-screen brings you some comfort as you swipe a skeletal finger across the screen, _KSSSST._

“Shit-!” A long scratch stretches across your screen where your finger touched it. You moan sadly as you toss your phone back in his lap. “Urgh just – I’ll tell you my password.” The subtle clacking of bones sits in the air as you hesitate. All possibilities of what could go wrong play through your head while Sans waits. You know you have to, so you suck it up, “Eughhh… diamond1999 no caps, no spaces.” He taps the password in, successfully unlocking your phone. Your home screen appears, revealing fanart of a popular pompadoured protagonist from one of your favorite series.

“oooooh! and who is THIS handsome gentleman~?” Your face instantly goes red and a mess of sounds tumble from your mouth.

“Wh- ah! I… Just-! Just go to the phone app…” You barely get the words out before burying your face deep in your hands to avoid his judgement. He laughs gently,

“don’t sweat it, pretty sure Alph’s shown me this guy before. maybe you two could be besties.” You peak from your hands at Sans. You see on your face a tired smile, regret still lingering in his expression from earlier. He turns back to the phone, entering the keypad and putting in Toriel’s number. The rings begin, and Sans puts the phone on speaker between you. The phone rings twice before Toriel comes through,

“Hello? This is Toriel.” A degree of stress is audible in her voice.

“heya, Tori, just thought we’d call and–”

“You numbskull! What were you thinking pulling that stunt back there? You thought you’d just tackle Y/N and disappear to who knows where? I’ve been worried sick about you, Sans!” Sans slowly shrunk in on himself throughout her scolding like a guilty child. “Please tell me you’re both alright. I need to hear both of your voices.” You speak up in Sans’ deep tone,

“Hey, Toriel, it’s Y/N.” She sighs with relief,

“Well thank goodness you’re both alright. Where are you two? Are you getting along?” You and Sans make very brief eye contact upon that last question, and you again spot a hint of guilt in his face.

“We’re back at my apartment, Toriel. And uh… we’re–”

“getting’ along swimmingly, Tori. you’ve _goat_ better things to do than worry about us anyway.” She snickers, “we can take it from here. you just go home and enjoy your night off.”

“Oh sure, Sans. I won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight knowing that _you_ have things all taken care of.” Sans mock-gasps,

“how could you say such a thing? I’m the most reliable Munster there ever was.”

“…Munster?”

“oh sorry, that was a bit _cheesy_.” She laughs on the other end,

“Ha ha, very punny, Sans. Listen, I’ll take your word for it and trust you to take care of this for now, but you’d better come to me if there’s any trouble, alright? I’ll _brie_ there as soon as you need me.” Sans snorts and chuckles,

“heh, that one _stinks_.”

“Ho ho! Not quite as bad as your bedroom; you should apologize to Y/N for the smell.”

“you rude bitch! I should just hang up right now and never talk to you again.”

“Oh no! I may just keel over and dust. Hm hmm, well I won’t take up too much more of your time. Are you sure neither of you needs a ride?”

“no worries, still got my shortcuts.”

“Oh well, have a good night and stay safe Sans, Y/N.” You then both chime in at once,

“later, tori.”

“Bye.” And with that, Sans hangs up. He lays back on the bed, and you turn to look towards him. Your hand rubs idly at your still-aching cheekbone. You’re nervous to go back to his apartment. If you go there, you’ll have to go to bed, then wake up in the morning, then spend a whole new day in his routine, in his life, dealing with his daily problems. You hardly have enough energy for your own issues, so entrusting all of your routine to him while taking his on seems unachievable.

“So, uh, do you have a job?” His face lights up,

“oh shit, yeah. kinda. I’ve got a hot dog stand. but I guess you probably don’t know too much about servin’ dogs, huh?” You shake your head in response. He rubs his hands over his face with a groan.

“ugghh, ok you don’t have anything goin’ on tomorrow, do ya?”

“Not tomorrow.”

“good. tomorrow morning, I’ll pop over and we’ll take the stand out. I can show ya the ropes, and you’ll be grillin’ like a pro in no time. should have ya good enough to take care of business until we get back to normal.” Bones clack on bones as you run your hands over your head, where you would have been able to run them through your hair if you still had it. You tilt back and sink into the bed. You knew this would be bad, but you weren’t expecting hot dog vendor bad. It’s hard enough to keep a conversation with people you know, but a bunch of strangers? It’s going to be hell.

“Hhhhh ok…” Your eyes drift shut as if you can avoid the inevitable by closing them.

“hey, lighten up, bucko. the hot dog life’s a glamorous one. you’ll have front-row seats to my sexy sausage show all day long, a masterclass in puttin’ dogs in buns. you’ll never believe the sheer amount of wiener wisdom I got.” Your eyes open with a start while heat peppers your face. Is he? No, couldn’t be. You look up at the ceiling,

“Guess it’s time to go back to your place.”

“hey, didn’t think we’d be moving so fast. sorry, buddy, but I don’t know you like that.” You squint your eyes at him.

“Huh?” His top lip moves down over his smile and his eyes shrink, resulting in a weird, frozen shock expression. He then breaks that face.

“nevermind. let’s just get goin’.” He holds a hand out to you, which you take in yours. With that, you blink out of the room.

In an instant, you appear back where you started the day, on Sans’ bed. The smell of bones and dirty laundry comes back to you like an old friend. Sans goes to turn on the light, stumbling over some mess on his way. The room lights up, and you take in the sight of all the scattered laundry, trash, and accessories. It feels like it’s been so long since the last time you saw it all, even though it was only just this morning you woke up in here. It’s home, for now. You spot Sans’ phone on the ground nearby – your phone now, you suppose. You pick it up, finding its black case a bit easier to hold in your hand than your own phone. The screen is covered by a smooth plastic protector, which your hard fingers slide across quite nicely. You turn it on, only now making note of the image of the lock screen. It’s the skull logo of Misfits, nice. You get to the password input and look to Sans,

“Hey, what’s your password?” He makes a choked sound and freezes, looking away. “Dude, I told you mine. I need to know yours.” He sighs,

“yeah, yeah. it’s 123456789.”

“Very creative,” you put in the password and open to the home screen. The home screen surprises you; it’s a picture of Tim Curry as Frank N. Furter from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Based on what you assumed Sans to be, you weren’t expecting to see Tim Curry in his pearls, heels, corset, and panties. Sans notices your surprised expression and peers at his phone screen.

“OH SHIT! uhhhhh hey it’s not like- I just- ya know- it’s uhh it’s a really good movie. cool outfits and stuff.” You look at his face, the nervousness written all over him.

“Is that what you tell people?” He jumps to answer, but you stop him before he can start, “Don’t worry, man, it’s cool. It’s a great movie, great outfits and stuff.”

“yeah…” You snicker internally and navigate to the contacts app. You make yourself a contact and send yourself a text. Your phone buzzes in his pocket.

“There, now we’ve got our numbers. I guess just text me when you’re gonna show up tomorrow.” He looks at the ‘hi’ you sent him and nods,

“yeah, yeah ok. guess I’ll just… head home.” It sounds weird coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah. Uhhh, see ya, I guess.”

“see ya” With that, he blinks away, literally speaking. You seemed to blink perfectly conveniently just as he teleported. Now alone, you lay back in his bed. Big, too big. You open your phone camera and switch the view to see yourself. You look hopeless. You prod at the hard bone around your eyes. You wonder how it’s so impossibly dark inside your eyes, even when illuminated by your pupils, these eye-lights. It doesn’t feel real. Your mind can’t wrap itself around the reality of your body, but your senses tell you that just as surely as rivers flow, your skeletal finger is scratching at your skeletal eye socket, laying in this skeleton’s room surrounded by this skeleton’s mess. Is this better, better than last night? You suppose it is, by a small margin. Despite everything, you think this might lead to some good in the end. However, you are exhausted, and it’s about time you get some sleep. You shed your jacket and sweater, then your socks and then… You woke up in these shorts; you haven’t seen underneath them. It feels like an invasion of privacy, but you’ll have to take them off eventually if you’re going to be in this body for a while longer. You slip them off, revealing a pair of thick thighs and nothing else. You’re surprised for a moment at your lack of underwear, but closer inspection reveals that underwear isn’t the only thing that’s missing. You’re totally bare down there. You thought maybe it was just hiding under your belly, but there’s really nothing there. Maybe it’s a blessing? Now you don’t have to deal with the embarrassment of having another guy’s… member. Though, you still are a bit embarrassed. You get up and turn off the light. The mattress welcomes you kindly, not unlike your own. You slip under the sheets and try to doze off. Something is missing. He doesn’t have a whole lot of blankets to cuddle, so you grab his jacket off the floor and hug it to your chest. You bury your face in the soft fluff, taking comfort in the smell and the feeling of holding something close. Finding your first sense of respite since waking up this morning, you fall asleep with the jacket in your arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you guys know about Paramore, and "Rose-Colored Boy" just felt right for the first chapter where Sans is around the whole time. If yall want a Misfits song for Sans' homescreen, I give to thee "Skulls." The second reference last chapter was "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)" by Simon and Garfunkel, but I've got some more to say. Thanks for all the support for the first few chapters. It's been a lot of fun writing this so far, and I'm looking forward to writing A LOT more. My life is super hectic right now, so I'm gonna take a break this week to focus on school. Don't worry, I'll be back November 8th with chapter five to start this next arc. Again, thank you all so much for the support so far.  
> See you in a couple weeks :)


	5. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wrong" is a song by Depeche Mode, more after the chapter.

Warm air under the sheets swaddles you. Vague images pass out of your mind as the last of your dreams fade away. There was something like a boat, maybe someone was lost at sea; you don’t remember. The rustling of soft sheets enters your head as your senses slowly tune into your surroundings. Your eyes catch the blurry outlines of your dark room, of Sans’ room.

“SANS! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME IN THERE!” You really wish you couldn’t. You groan in response. Papyrus rolls his eyes outside the door, quite used to Sans’ morning malaise. “YOU’D BETTER GET YOUR LAZY BUM OUT OF BED BEFORE THE DAY SLIPS AWAY. YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME YOU STAYED IN BED TOO LONG. I COULD HAVE MADE A PLASTER MOLD OF YOUR BACKSIDE FROM THAT POOR MATTRESS.” Your half-shut eyes flick down to the slight depression in the mattress that you’re lying in. So much time spent lying in bed, how… _depressing_. Maybe you’ve been Sans too long already; his puns are worming their way into your brain. “ANYWHO. I’M GOING FOR MY JOG. YOU’D BETTER BE AWAKE WHEN I GET BACK!” It’s too early for words, so you groan again in response. Papyrus’ footsteps pitter away and the front door closes. Well, you should probably get up if you don’t want to fall asleep again. One last snuggle, it’s all you need. You bury your face under the toasty sheets and breathe in the coziness.

“Huuughhhh!” You gag and gasp for breath, eyes wide open now. You’re not putting your face down there again, not until you replace the sheets with something clean and fresh. Is that really what you smell like right now? You lift an arm and sniff. Ew… you stink. The sheets can wait, you need to take a shower. You pull on some shorts and a dingy shirt from the floor. The warmth leaves you as you get up and leave the room. A degree of déja vu touches you as you step out and look around the apartment. From your bedroom door, there’s a bathroom ahead on the other side of the hall, a kitchen on the right past the living room, and another hallway leading to where you assume Papyrus’ room is. It’s going to be a while before you can get used to this place. You cross the hall into the bathroom and start searching for towels. There are a couple towels stacked on a metal rack by the door, from which you choose the softest one and sling it over the shower curtain. You lock the door and start the water. You strip off the gross shirt and shorts and toss them to the cold tile floor. Running a hand under the water finds it warm enough to get in, so you step into the shower and shiver at the sudden jolt of hot water against your bones. You almost want to step out at first. The tapping of water against your body is much harsher without skin to pad the impact. However, a wafting reminder of your pungent smell is enough to push through the discomfort.

There are only two bottles along the side of the shower: Bone Body Wash and Bone Shampoo. How…? Best not to question it. A healthy squirt of Bone Shampoo – from a mostly full bottle – then lathering it onto your skull, it feels nice. It’s nice to be clean. You rinse the suds from your head and wonder how often Sans showers. You like to imagine that most people have good hygiene habits, especially the guy that’s piloting your body right now, but Sans’ B.O. says otherwise. To solve that, you take a squirt of Bone Body Wash and start laying it on your bones. He doesn’t even have a loofah… It’s fine. These are all just the normal differences in lifestyle that you should have expected going into this. Still, you wish you could be in your own shower right now. You know just the right spot to adjust your shower handle to for the perfect temperature; this one you’re still fussing with. The water flows on, still tapping on your bones relentlessly. The shower goes on, lather on soap, rinse, soak in the hot water and contemplate life decisions.

After some time enjoying the hot water, you decide to get out and dry off. You scrub your wet bones with the soft towel, step out, and wrap the towel around your wide waist. You’re walking back to your room when a thought comes to mind. Sans’ body isn’t too much unlike yours. Granted, Sans is HUGE, but it’s not too unfamiliar. That thought along with the cleanly warmth that follows a hot shower leaves you feeling content, even a bit happy. You can push bad thoughts to the back of your mind, close your eyes, and feel almost at home despite your body. You shut the door to Sans’ room and sink into his mattress, feeling peaceful. You roll over and grab your phone, checking if Sans has texted you at all. The phone flashes on and shows no notifications. You put the phone down and relax into the mattress, clasp your hands behind your head and feel blissfully alone on your little island. Blip.

“hey.” Your eyes snap open and you wriggle around frantically with the sheets, trying desperately to cover up. Sans snickers, “snrk. did you take a shower?” His face is familiar; he’s making the same kind of face you make when you’re trying to hold in a laugh and failing. You try to stutter out an answer, but he stops you, “hey, bud, it’s no problem. ya know, I’m a big singer in the shower, but paps doesn’t like it too much. he’s not a fan of _soap operas_.” He delivers the line with a sort of pizzazz, like he’s performing a comedy act for you, which makes you laugh. You sit up in bed, supposing you should probably get dressed and ready to go. You think for a moment as you get up and walk to the dresser.

“It’s funny. The shower might have a crush on you,” He smiles curiously,

“why’s that?” You smirk,

“As soon as I got in, the shower got turned on.” Sans laughs, and it sounds funny. His laugh is wooping like a seal, but it’s coming out of your higher voice and smaller body. You laugh at your own joke and how silly he sounds. His laugh is actually kind of cute. “Yeah, it was a mess. This is kinda raunchy but… the shower got wet.” He snorts and laughs even harder, and you join in.

“HA HA ha ha ha! damn, keep it up and today’s gonna be a breeze.” Maybe he’s right, you sure hope so. You’re sorting through his shorts. You probably shouldn’t try to dress too different from how he normally does, no matter how much you want to dress like yourself. The weather’s been colder recently, so you grab a big pair of black sweatpants. They seem less used than the shorts you had on before, and they’re very soft. You’re about to pull off the towel when you glance over your shoulder at Sans. He notices your hesitation and furrows his brow bemusedly, “hate to break it to ya buddy, but I _have_ seen my own ass before, nothin’ to be shy about.” Your face heats up,

“Haha! Oh, yeah.” You turn away regardless as you drop the towel and pull the sweatpants on.

“but jeez. never seen it from the outside before.” If your face wasn’t burning before, it is now. You can’t believe this guy is complimenting his own ass while you’re getting dressed. Though, you will agree that seeing your own body from an outside perspective like this is very surreal, much different from looking at pictures or a mirror. Maybe… maybe you should try checking yourself out. No! No, that’s silly and embarrassing. It might not be so embarrassing if he doesn’t see though. You’ll just sit on that idea, best to get your mind off it for now. You start flipping through the many sweaters and shirts in his closet. If there’s one thing you can appreciate about Sans’ apparent sense of fashion, it’s that comfort comes first. You can see that in how he dressed your body, another heavy jacket with shorts and a t-shirt. You pick out a deep red sweatshirt and throw it on. It fits a little snug, which makes you feel nervous, but it’s very comfortable. You put on the same jacket from yesterday; that will hide your body well enough. You turn away from the closet and look at Sans. He’s sitting on his bed, head resting in his hand with his eyes closed. You hum quietly and pull the fluff of your jacket up to your face. The smell is comforting, nothing like the sweaty smell of his sheets. He must be able to feel your eyes on him because his eyes open and look up at you. His eyes seem to search you, and you do the same. There’s a strange feeling of connection, a pull between you. You’re not sure what it is; you wonder if he feels it too. You break the eye contact and look at the door. His eyes follow, realizing what you’re thinking. “right. those dogs ain’t gonna grill themselves.”

“Right.” You approach the door, but Sans doesn’t follow.

“just gimme a hand and we’ll get goin’.” You turn around absent-mindedly then laugh.

“Oh, yeah! Ha ha, forgot.” You waste no time clasping his hand in yours. He chuckles lightly,

“heh, guess I’ve got the perfect _buns_ for makin’ hot dogs.” And before you can say a thing, you’re already standing in an alley off a large street. You look around, not seeing any hot dog carts around. “wait here.” Sans tucks off around a corner, and you think to follow him, but stop short as a hot dog cart comes rolling around the corner.

“You had a whole hot dog stand sitting in some alley?”

“ _mustard_ you ask so many questions?” He grins as he rolls the cart past you, across the sidewalk and into place so that lots of foot-traffic will be passing in front of your cart. While he’s opening the umbrella in the center of the cart, you walk over and meet him behind the stand.

“Well, I’ve gotta ask questions if I’m ever gonna _ketchup_ to your wiener expertise.” He finishes setting up the umbrella and starts preparing ingredients.

“heh, you’ve got the puns down. if you can keep punning like that, these folks are gonna _relish_ your service no matter how good ya are with the dogs.” You hum and smile as he sets everything up, noting where the hot dogs go, buns, toppings. “here, let’s do a practice dog. here’s where I cook new dogs, but usually I take em from in here.” A steamy cloud unveils dozens of hot dogs sitting together in a foiled tub, “just put that bad boy in a bun and get some toppings.” He lifts another lid, “warning, it’s a little _sauer_.” The bitter and savory smell of sauerkraut – normally too strong for you – makes your mouth water. You didn’t know skeleton mouths could water.

“Ha, sure, lemme get some sauerkraut and,” Your eyes notice a bright yellow bottle under the counter, “Mustard.” A brightness appears in Sans’ face.

“coming right up!” With flair, he decorates the dog with a hearty heaping of sauerkraut and tasteful scribbles of mustard. He holds the hot dog in front of you like a gourmet dish, “one sans special, hot and ready.” You take the dog happily, feeling a surge in your appetite. You dig in as Sans fixes himself a dog, same toppings and all. “it’s my favorite kinda dog, if you didn’t guess.” You both enjoy your hot dogs as the quiet morning starts to wind up, more people on their way to work traversing the street. You’re sure now that you inherited Sans’ tastebuds because this might be the best hot dog you’ve ever had. You wonder if Sans is enjoying his as much. Looking down at him shows that he’s already finished his hot dog and is now fishing the mustard out from under the counter. He smirks up at you and brings the bottle to his lips. Your face remains blank, not knowing what he will do. He winks and squirts the mustard right into his mouth. Your eyes go wide, as do his. He face scrunches up, and he chokes the mustard down, swallowing all of it. His face cringes while your shock turns to laughter.

“HOHOHOOOOOO-WHAT??” You shout in disbelief and hilarity. He doubles over with laughter, still trying to keep his mouth shut. You hover over him with an incredulous grin across your face. Who did you switch bodies with? You didn’t sign up to switch bodies with a PSYCHO who drinks MUSTARD. He squeaks some words you can’t make out. “Ha what?” He barely lifts his head to look up in your direction.

“I- heh HAH heh- I, I really like mustard…”

“Yeah??” He nods despite the tears in his eyes.

“yeah…!”

“You sure?” He gathers an ounce of his composure and stands up a bit more to face you with faux determination.

“if I can promise you one thing, I will train this body to love mustard as it should.” You wipe the tears from your eye-sockets, still smiling the hardest you have in a while.

“I bet you will.” You aren’t sold on the idea. You don’t know if you’ll ever love mustard enough to drink it from the bottle, but it’ll be funny to watch him try.

The foot-traffic is picking up, and it looks like someone is coming for a hot dog to start their day. A short man in a brown suit, a hot dog with raw onions, $3.50, have a good day! Sans took care of the cash, so it was easy enough. As the morning rush picks up, you and Sans spend the next few hours selling hot dogs with relative ease. The small talk is tough, but you’re doing your best to push through it. You still lack the finesse to make hot dogs efficiently, stumbling over some steps in the process. It’s going to take some time to get into the rhythm of this, and even then, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to do much more than the bare minimum for human interaction. It doesn’t help that many people pass the cart by completely, giving you dirty looks as they go. You know why they’re looking at you that way, and it hurts to feel the disgust and fear so many humans have for monsters. You’d never thought about it before, as you never personally knew any monsters before yesterday. Those people cause a sinking feeling in your gut whenever they pass. It’s no problem, though. You tend to avoid people’s eyes, so you avoid theirs all the same. You shove the feeling down as waves of people keep coming again and again. Bun, dog, toppings, charge, again. In all this time, you don’t see a single other monster. Not until now, when a strange monster approaches your stand.

He appears to be a fish monster dressed even more comfortably than you or Sans, only wearing a stained tank-top and sweatpants. You eye him with curiosity, not seeing the strained look on Sans’ face. He arrives with no line to stop him from waddling up in front of the stand.

“Hey, ya old bag of bones! The fuck is up! Grillbz told me ya had a hot dog place ‘round here!” You freeze. He’s smiling meanly, so you hope he’s being friendly.

“Uh, yeah, hey!” Sans’ eyes flick between the two of you.

“What’s up! You look dead, Sans!” You force a laugh, and his mean expression loses its previous sense of familiarity. “What? Yer actin’ like I’m a fuckin’ stranger or somethin’.” You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but you can feel the fear and anxiety bubbling up in you.

“Er, no! No, I- uh… I mean, ya know, how could I forget all the… good times!” Sans is sweating next to you, but there’s nothing he can do to intervene without making it exceedingly obvious that something is wrong.

“Good times? The fuck’re ya talkin’ about? Underground?”

“Uh- I,”

“Y’know we mighta been buds down there getting’ drunk off our asses, but that shit was never good.” Your face is fixed in a grimace as he goes on. The bubbling of fear and anxiety is rising into your neck; you can’t speak. “Shit’s different now, but we were cool down there. Now yer actin’ like ya don’t even know who I am! It’s shitty people like you who go around actin’ like they’re so fuckin’ high and mighty cause their bro’s in the Royal Guard or some shit then act like they never did nothin’ wrong. We both know you coulda been gone same as me if your bro weren’t fuckin’ captain of the guard! You ain’t better than me cause a that shit.” You’re still quiet. You want to vomit. The fish’s face twists up grossly. “Yeah! Don’t say shit pompous motherfucker! Pieces a shit like you really piss me off! Ya think yer so cool cause your bro was keepin’ you safe? Shit’s different up here, buddy! They’ll dust ya like nothin’ and no one can do shit about it! Even yer big scary bro can’t do shit!” Still not a word leaves you. One sharp bone appears from under the cart, dangerously approaching the fish’s neck.

“we’re closed for today, go home.” The fish looks at Sans with disbelief, then laughs.

“Ya think you can fuckin’ boss me around you pansy shit! You little fuckin’ humans don’t know the half of it!” The bone extends severely, almost piercing his neck. He whimpers and backs off. “Tch! Whatever! I always knew you were a shitbag, fuckin’ stupid hot dog stand. Keep betrayin’ yer own kind, Sans!” The fish keeps backing off, muttering things you don’t want to hear. Sans’ dark expression remains until the fish is out of sight. He packs up the stand, closes the umbrella, and starts wheeling the cart back into the alley it came from. He looks back at you urgently,

“come on! that’s enough for one day.” You stand still, unmoved since the fish started screaming. Sans runs back and takes your hand, dragging you along into the alley. He leaves you and once again disappears around the corner. He soon returns, takes your hand, and shortcuts you both home, to Sans’ room.

Your arrival only worsens the nausea you feel, but you don’t move. Your hands are clawing and pinching at the base of your jacket. Sans sits down on the bed, but when he sees you still standing, he gets up and comes to you. He hesitates to touch you before grabbing your arms. “hey, are you alright?” You’re quiet. “Y/N, come on, buddy. are you ok?”

“Mm.” He throws a hand behind his head, the other scratching at his face.

“shit. this is all my fault. I should’ve never made you run the stand that was a dumbass idea. stars, I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“Sans.” You interject quietly.

“I’m such an idiot. that fuckin’ guy. I should’ve gotten us outta there right away. I can’t keep screwin’ up like this.”

“Sans.” Still quiet, still fussing with your jacket.

“this is never gonna work if I keep fucking shit up like this. hell, you prob’ly don’t even want anything to do with me, and you’re stuck with me draggin’ you along. I-”

“Sans!” You grab the hand that was scratching at his face, pulling it gently away. Your own eyes look up at you. He’s sweaty and shaking. “It’s really ok. It’s not your fault, I just- thanks for getting me outta there.” He swallows, looking up at himself.

“y- yeah…” You let go of his hand. It nearly returns to his face, but he drops it after a second. His nerves are still buzzing with stress, but he stills it within himself. You flop down on the bed and pull out your phone; it’s only 3:27. You glance back at Sans, who is following you to bed and laying down. You’re a bit fried, but as much as you’d like to get away from any contact with other people, you know you’ll just end up bored and sad.

“You wanna do something?” He opens his eyes more, looking at you.

“like what?” You’re not used to planning things with other people, so you take a moment to think.

“We could… go to my place and chill and just watch movies and eat snacks and stuff.” His expression fills with surprise and wonder. “If you, uh, if you’re up to it.” Sans blinks,

“yeah, that sounds nice.” You smile,

“Nice.” You hold out your hand, and he takes it in his. In an instant, you’re home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm super excited to be back, sorry for the late chapter. Y'all should go give "Wrong" a listen, it helped me a lot with this chapter. Plus Depeche Mode is just a cool band. I made a Tumblr where I'm gonna be posting art based on this story and other Sans-related stuff. Check it out here jackets-for-comfort.tumblr.com  
> See you next week :)


	6. Oh! You Pretty Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh! You Pretty Things" is a song by David Bowie, more after the chapter.

Your couch huffs with the sudden weight on it. Almost no nausea plagues you as you both fall into the soft cushions. Home again. You sigh with relief and close your eyes. If you can end each day by spending some time at your real apartment, you might be able to put up with this body-swappage for a while. You peep your eyes open and glance at Sans, who is out cold. Your eyebrows jump up and some concern shows on your face. You lean closer, even consider shaking him, but the steady sound of sleepy breathes makes you back off. He deserves some rest. You stand up from the couch and bring one hand to your chin and the other to your hip. You survey your apartment in quiet consideration. This is new. You wonder how long it’s been since you had someone over. With a bit of self-pity, you realize this is the first time you’ve invited someone to your apartment. What do you even do when you have guests? You recall your earlier suggestions of movies and snacks. Yeah, those should work. What’s nice about movies is that you don’t have to constantly be talking to and entertaining your guest. You grab the remote and click the TV on. Unsure of what Sans wants to watch, you navigate to the “Halloween Movies” section and start playing _Beetlejuice_.

Now snacks. You leave Sans on the couch and start rooting around in your kitchen. The same bottle of mustard from yesterday is sitting on the counter, warm from sitting out so long. Your eyes drift to the sink, where there is still a yellow stain next to the drain. In an instant, your brain connects the dots, and you laugh to yourself. Sans really is stubborn. You run the water and rinse the stain off, then toss the mustard in the trash. Without any further distraction, you open the cabinets and search for food. There are bags of microwave popcorn, chips, and a few packages of mini brownies. You grab a bag of popcorn and put it in the microwave. While the popcorn is cooking, you carry the chips and brownies back to the couch and dump them on the coffee table. Sans is still knocked out. You return to the kitchen and pick out a small bowl, cut a piece of butter, and replace the now-popped popcorn with some extra butter to melt. The popcorn pours easily into a large bowl, then drizzled on with the melted butter. Culinary perfection. You deliver the popcorn to the table, then back again for drinks, two tall cups of water. Sans doesn’t stir when you put his cup on the table in front of him, dozing as peaceful as a baby. One more thing. You retrieve a pair of comfy blankets from your bed, which is even messier than usual. You lay one over Sans, careful not to rouse him. This might end up being a solo movie night, but that’s ok. You might actually be more comfortable not worrying about another person during your movie-watching, especially since you tend to watch in silence when other people are around. You draw the curtains, turn off the lights, nestle into the couch, and snuggle up in your blanket and focus on the Maitlands’ fruitless attempts to scare the Deetz family away.

And so quietly passes the first hour of _Beetlejuice_. You munch on buttery popcorn and rich brownies, content while Sans snoozes. You grab for the last pack of brownies, only to find it gone. You only get a brief moment to wonder where it went before you hear plastic crumpling next to you. You look right to find Sans finishing off the brownies,

“Oh! You’re awake.” His eyes are still droopy and full of sleep when they shift to you.

“mmyeah…” He looks back at the TV. “whuz goin’ on…?”

“Ha, ok so that family just moved into this house, but it’s haunted by this couple who died there! They’re trying to get each other to leave, but this guy, Betelgeuse, got accidentally summoned by Lydia and is screwing everything up cause he wants to kill the family and marry Lydia and they’re trying to stop it cause the ghost couple actually likes Lydia cause she’s a cool goth girl who can see ghosts and…” Slowly, Sans blinks like a frog, not absorbing one word of what you said. “I guess it’s a little complicated.” You laugh and play with the empty popcorn bowl in your lap. Sans lets the empty plastic package fall from his hands and tumble onto the ground. The rest of the movie passes quietly. Surprisingly, Sans remains awake, swaddled in his blanket. “Jump in the Line” plays, and all the characters enjoy their happily ever after, ending the movie. You return to the movie list, hesitate, then hold the remote out to Sans. “Here, you can choose the next one since I got first pick.” Sans, still drowsy, tenses a bit before accepting the remote.

“you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s only fair. I’m gonna get more popcorn.” You gather the trash and head back towards the kitchen.

“ok, just don’t go complainin’ if you don’t like it.” You put a bag of popcorn in, ready the butter, and wait. You’re leaning against the counter when you get an idea.

“Hey, you want some hot chocolate?” He turns himself to look back at you, standing in the dim kitchen with two packs of hot chocolate powder in your hand. His eyes are like a child, brimming with innocence and pitiable disbelief.

“… yeah.” Something in your chest warms at his answer, and you promptly pour out some milk into two mugs to heat up. Once the popcorn is out and freshly buttered, you pop the mugs in the microwave and deliver Sans the popcorn. He’s still scrolling through movies, wearing that tired and childish face. Back in the kitchen, you wait until the milk is steaming hot, then mix the chocolate powder into each mug; the rich warmth of chocolate fills the air. The weather has been getting colder recently, getting into lower Fall temperatures. It’s one of your favorite times of year. You can bundle up and get cozy without overheating, sip on hot chocolate and wear big jackets and sweaters. You love big jackets; they feel safe. You glance back at Sans, who seems to have found a movie, _The Addams Family_. Surprisingly, you’ve never actually seen this movie, even though you know it’s a classic, especially around Halloween. You wonder what you’ll do for Halloween this year. You hopefully can get this mess sorted out before then; though it could lead to some fun costume ideas if you and Sans are more familiar by then. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve been standing here in thought while the hot chocolate gets cold. You quickly take the mugs to the coffee table and sit back down on the couch. The movie is just starting.

While you’re getting settled in, Sans picks up his mug. He brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip before quickly recoiling. “ow! shit!” You stop fussing with your blanket and scooch towards him, lifting your hands toward his shoulder and the mug.

“Ooh careful! Here, you gotta blow on it first to cool it down.” Indicating his hot chocolate, you pick yours up and blow a soft stream of air on the piping hot beverage. He rolls his eyes.

“jeez, human bodies are so fuckin’ sensitive.” He blows on his before taking a cautious sip.

“Makes you take your time, really enjoy it.” He licks his top lip.

“hm, sorry.” Your eyebrows rise.

“Sorry? For what?” His eyes are cast down.

“burnin’ your mouth.”

“It’s ok, my lips’ll be alright.” You do your best to offer him a smile, but you’re not sure if it's enough.

“hm.” Even you can tell that Sans has something on his mind. It’s not that you don’t want to help, but you’re not sure what you can do. Situations like this tend to escape you. You sip your hot chocolate, staring at him as his eyes remain on the TV. You don’t want to say the wrong thing out of fear that he’ll close up even more. Maybe you shouldn’t _say_ anything. Your drink down enough of your hot chocolate that it won’t spill, noticing that despite its heat, you don’t feel any pain. Your eyes shift around, and you slowly shuffle yourself across the couch towards Sans. You hope that the heat in your face is coming from your hot chocolate. You scoot a bit closer. This is stupid. You’re going to look so weird. You power through the nervous thoughts in your head, touching Sans’ arm with your side. Your eyes are pointedly staring at the wall, face all scrunched up with nerves. Sans looks up at you, seeing the image of awkward fear in your demeanor. That expression so full of innocent awe and surprise is back on his face. He looks down at his hands as his face changes from surprise to shame. His hand moves to scratch at his arm. He takes a moment to think, then speaking up. “I’ve uh – I’m sorry, about yesterday. shouldn’ta gone nuts like that, punched ya. I… didn’t mean it.” You turn your head to see him looking down, tearing his arm up.

“Sans,” He turns his deep frown towards you. Your hand glides down to his, stopping the scratching. “It’s alright, I forgive you. It was a crazy day. You were mad, but I have a feeling, that’s not you. You’re a good guy. Today was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Sans is frozen, no longer scratching or shaking. You avoid his eyes; they’re too full for you to look at without becoming more nervous. “I’m really glad that it was someone like you who I ended up with and not someone like that fish guy from earlier.” Sans looks away, a strained expression with sad, nervous eyes.

“don’t be so sure.” He’s drifting away again; you try to pull him back.

“Sans, would that guy care if he hit me or burned my mouth on hot chocolate?” He doesn’t answer. “I can tell you care, and that’s more than most people can say.” You search him for something, anything.

“if you say so.” He plucks a piece of popcorn, examining it for a moment. “now we _butter_ start payin’ attention to this movie or we’ll miss the whole thing.” He gives you a weak smile before popping the salty treat in his mouth. You return the smile. You don’t want to keep pushing him and make him uncomfortable.

“Ok,” Your deep voice is soft in response. “But that one was really…” Taking a piece of popcorn, “ _Corny_.” He snorts.

“just how I like ‘em.” He doesn’t scoot away from you on the couch, instead keeping your sides leaning together. You both sip some hot chocolate, snuggling into the mess of blankets and snacks. This is why you love cold weather. It makes warmth so much sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I LOVE Hunky Dory (Which is the album this week's song comes from). I'm gonna tell you right now that there's gonna be more of that album in this story, and "Oh! You Pretty Things" just felt perfect for the much sweeter chapter I was trying to write this week. Ngl I really didn't like last week's chapter at all, so I'm hoping this makes up for that mess. Like this chapter wasn't originally going to have so much fluff but I was like "I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed it." Looking forward to future chapters; the reward for reading is that fluff always gets better as the characters get to know each other ;) Also I posted some character sketches on my Tumblr, so check those out if you want at jackets-for-comfort.tumblr.com  
> See you next week :)


	7. Roll with the Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Roll with the Changes" is a song by REO Speedwagon, more after the chapter.

Soft, cozy hours pass on the couch together. The movies don’t stop until 11 o’clock, when the sun is gone, and the air is full of dozy breaths of warmth from under your tangle of blankets. Some time during the last movie, Sans fell back asleep curled against your side. You’ve never seen yourself look so peaceful as right now, safe and sleeping at home. It warms you inside in a way you didn’t expect from someone you only met yesterday. You normally take a long time to feel comfortable enough with someone to spend so much time with them, let alone snuggle up with them on your couch. You blush at the thought. Maybe it’s because he’s in your body that he feels so much more familiar, or maybe it’s his charming personality. You laugh internally, but as gruff as your first meeting was, it seems like _today_ was your first glimpse of his real self. Tender, funny, nervous, a bit over-apologetic… Stop yourself; it’s no good to start constructing your idea of a person before you really know them. You still need some time. Your head feels fuzzy with tiredness, almost ready to nod off where you are. Looking down again at Sans, you suppose you don’t want to have any back problems when you eventually switch back to your own body, so you should probably take him to bed. Yes, that’s a perfectly impersonal way of explaining this. No suppressed feelings of attachment whatsoever. You pull your arm from under your blanket, releasing a plume of toasty air as you gently shake Sans’ shoulder. You whisper,

“Sans. Sans! Gotta go to bed.” He doesn’t stir. You bite your lip, unsure if you should try moving him… Well, he has to go to bed whether he takes himself or not. Despite your reluctance to give up your warmth, you flip your blanket to the side and shift your cramped legs around to ground yourself. You rise to a wobbly stance and stretch out your tired bones, groaning with satisfaction at the resulting cracks and pops. The image of yourself bundled up on the couch, passed out and cozy, it’s surprisingly cute. You shake the thoughts away, and your hands slide under him with care not to wake him. You heft him up and cradle him to your chest. Woah! Just how strong _is_ Sans? As you carry him to your room, you find yourself amazed at how easily you can pick yourself up. The mess of sheets, comforter, and blankets swallow him up as you lower him into your bed. You pull some blankets over him and sigh with relief. You snatch a pillow and clutch it in your arms, staring at Sans. Is this what you imagined it might be like one day? That one day someone would carry you to bed and see you like this, so gentle and quiet? Your face is hot again. You turn and leave the room, pulling the door closed with all the silence you can muster. You return to the couch and sink into its warm cushions. Looks like Sans can’t shortcut you back to his place tonight. Something is itching at the back of your mind… Oh! Papyrus will probably be worried if his brother doesn’t come home, so you pull up his messages with Sans. It feels like an invasion of privacy, but you scroll up to their previous messages to see how Sans texts. No need to make Papyrus suspicious. Their texts are brief, at least on Sans’ end. Papyrus seems to go on longer rants in his texts. You’ve seen enough to replicate Sans’ texts.

( yo. stayin at a friends tn )

_Delivered_. Yeah, that looks good. You’re something of an expert of forgery. You put your phone on the table and turn off the TV. You swipe the stray wrappers and popcorn onto the floor; that’s a mess for tomorrow. You lay out your blanket and lower your head onto your pillow. It feels good to be sleeping at home again, even if you’re on the couch. You get cozy under your blanket and close your eyes, but you don’t quite drift off yet. You touch the part of you that was pressed up against Sans all evening. It feels funny. Not in a physical way, but something there tickles you. That was the first time in years that you’ve been so close to someone for so long. As you touch your side, you recall the feeling of his body leaning on yours. Again, you find yourself blushing. Stupid, it’s such a small thing. It’s not like it meant anything; you’re just touch-starved. You roll over so your side is under you, now feeling the cushions pressed against it. You fall asleep remembering the feeling of Sans’ body leaning into yours.

Morning comes, and radiant light filters from behind the curtains toward you, landing on your closed eyes. You murmur and squirm, opening your eyes slowly as morning brightens. You shuffle up into a sitting position with your blankets still wound around your body. Mmmmm… What time is it? You click your phone on and read the time, 11:42. Your eyes open wide; that’s way later than you wanted to sleep in today! You hurry off the couch, groaning about how you’d been trying to get yourself up earlier recently. You consider going to wake Sans up but decide against it. He seemed exhausted yesterday. You can get something together for breakfast, though. You open Sans’ phone and find his music app, then turn on _Be the Cowboy_. You preheat the oven and lay some bacon on a baking sheet. You haven’t made bacon – or really any big breakfast foods – in a while. You aren’t sure why you’re doing it now. Maybe it’s because you’re not just worrying about yourself, but someone else as well. A couple of eggs crack into a bowl, ready for stirring. You take a fork and start vigorously whipping up the eggs in the bowl, focusing intently on the motion of it. You become so engrossed in the mixing that you don’t hear a sluggish pair of feet approaching from the living room.

“hey.”

“Wah!” The bowl fumbles in your hands, and you just barely catch it. “Jeez! Good morning!”

“mornin’…” He peeks at the bowl in your hands and braces casually against the doorway. “what’s cookin’ good lookin’? smells tasty.” You stifle a blush; you’re starting to feel like all this flirting is just part of his nature.

“Just some bacon and scrambled eggs, you want some?” Sans waddles to the fridge and roots around inside.

“can’t say no to free food, ‘specially not bacon. Paps never buys it cause he says it’s ‘FRIED GREASE-MEAT’ and ‘PROOF THAT HUMANS DON’T KNOW HOW TO COOK _REAL_ FOOD.” Sans, still searching the fridge, imitates Papyrus with a shrill and obnoxious tone. You hum a laugh,

“Well I like my fried grease-meat, and… What are you looking for?” He backs out of the fridge, huffing with frustration.

“the mustard! I know it was around here last night.”

“Oh! I threw it out.” Sans’ eyes go wide.

“you what?” He dashes to the trashcan and opens the lid. He spots the yellow bottle near the top of the trash. You thrust your arm in front of him, halting his reaching hands.

“It was nasty and old! I’ll get fresh mustard next time I go shopping, ok?” He frowns and grabs again at the bottle, “No. No trash mustard!” He growls under his breath.

“I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“Ok, well I don’t know what you-” He’s already gone. You roll your eyes and place your hands on your hips. One, two, three, four… blip! Sans is again in front of you with a fresh bottle of mustard. “Please, where did you just go. Whose mustard is that?”

“relax, Y/N, just popped back to my place and snagged it while Paps wasn’t lookin’.” You sigh in relief and check back in on the bacon. It still needs a couple minutes, just enough time to cook up some eggs. Sans makes himself at home on the couch, sipping tentatively from his mustard bottle. As much as he tries, he still cringes and shudders with each spurt of mustard. The eggs don’t take long to cook, being plated just before you pull the bacon out of the oven. You arrange hearty piles of eggs and bacon for both of you and serve Sans his plate with a muted _thnk_ on the coffee table. His tired eyes brighten before he promptly digs in. “mmmm, these are _egg-cellent_ , but y’know what’d make ‘em even better?” He doesn’t wait for your response. A sloppy coat of mustard soon covers his eggs, which makes you wince. You hurry back to the kitchen, grabbing water for Sans and a bottle of ketchup for yourself. He doesn’t look up from his food when you place the water in front of him, too busy scarfing down mustard-soaked eggs. You squirt a _healthy_ amount of ketchup on your eggs and get eating.

With the breakfast dishes put away and Sans napping on the couch, you brace against the counter. Hmmm… There’s a nagging feeling at the back of your head, a feeling of obligation. It’s still unknown to anyone what really happened. Why did you and Sans switch bodies? You chew on your finger, racking your mind. Was it one of you who caused it, or some external cause? Why you? Why Sans? There’s nothing about it that makes sense. Mysteries like this tend to seem complex until the one piece that ties it all together is revealed, then it all seems childish and simple. What’s the missing piece? You don’t know. The only person you feel might be able to help is Toriel, but she’s so busy you have no idea when you’ll be able to meet up with her in person.

You groan to yourself. You want to accomplish something today, to reclaim some amount of your former routine. There might be one thing you can do. You pass Sans, still snoozing, on the way to your room. In your room, you open your desk drawer and retrieve your sketchbook and select a 2B pencil. You pull out your chair and sit down at your desk, the chair protesting at the larger body now sat in it. Open to a fresh page, you tap the pencil against your jaw, what to draw… Uhhh, hm, it’s easy to sit down with everything you need to get started, but actually _doing_ what you set out to do is another issue. You flip through earlier pages for ideas, finding some drawings of a familiar favorite character of yours. Sure, he’ll do. You sketch out the general shapes, or you try to. The shapes are shaky at best. It’s fine, you’re sure this will not reflect on your ability to still draw, absolutely sure. You draw the harder lines, all wobbly and inconsistent. Your heart is sinking as the picture comes together. Lines that once would have been bold and smooth strokes across the paper are now jagged. Pulling your hand away, you view the whole drawing, finding it completely unrecognizable. That doesn’t look like something you’d draw at all. You can’t believe it; you’ve lost your drawing abilities. However, you have a question. Does Sans have them?

Before you can even consider the question, you’re hovering over Sans’ sleeping form. He’s sprawled across the couch, snoring. You hesitate in waking him, but you’re too curious.

“Sans.” Snore, “Sans!” Snooze… You’re nervous to touch him, but it seems to be your only option. You poke his chest, “Sanssss!” Still asleep, more poking. You’re poking rapidly all over his chest with both hands, “Saaaaaaaaaannnsssssssssss!”

“snrk. eugh, huh?” His eyes crack open, spaced out.

“Sans, I have an idea I need you to test.”

“mnuuuuuuuuuuuuh…” He rolls over and closes his eyes.

“No way! Come on, lazybones!” You scoop him up in your arms and get moving back to your room. His eyes are wide open now, looking around and up at you, hiding his flushed face behind his arm. You set him down at your desk, which he surveys with confusion.

“uhhh… waddya want me to do?” You pluck the pencil from the desk.

“I just need you to draw something. Like this guy.” You show him an earlier page where you had drawn the same character you just attempted.

“hey, that’s pretty good.” You shrug it off.

“Thanks.”

“but y’know, I ain’t really an _artiste_ like yourself.” You jut your jaw to the side,

“Yeah but just- give it a shot. Just a sketch, nothing crazy.”

“ok…” He takes the pencil from you and sets it to the page. You immediately notice that his strokes are steadier than yours. He works quickly, as well. Only a couple minutes later, he has a sure sketch of the character. It isn’t especially detailed or accurate, but the style of drawing is unmistakably yours. “oooo~ I take it back. maybe I oughta become an artist, charge people a couple hundred dollars to draw ‘em somethin’. maybe I could be one a those internet artists who draws dirty stuff for people to pay my rent.” His face is oozing smugness, but your face is unamused. You look down, hiding your face as a smile breaks it. You silence any laughter tickling your throat.

“This is good! I was worried I might have to rebuild all that muscle memory and drawing skills when we switch back. Guess you’ve got it for now.”

“aww, come on. you’re gonna take all the credit? this is fine art made by my own hand.” You don’t respond, simply holding your hands up to him. “ah shut it.” You laugh and put your hands away. You sit down on the corner of the bed, eyeing Sans.

“I was thinking earlier. What do we have in common?” Sans looks confused for a moment, then pointing at the jacket he’s wearing. Your face remains blank. He grows more confused, finger drifting past the jacket toward his stomach. “Wh- no!” You unconsciously cross your arms over yourself. “I mean, like, why _us_? Why was it specifically us that switched bodies?” The confusion flies out of him in an instant, being replaced by an almost uncharacteristic level of contemplation.

“huh. I dunno.” You look deep into him, waiting for some elaboration. He notices your intent staring, “that’s really all I got! honestly I don’t even remember much of the day _before_ we got mixed up. it’s kinda,” He punctuates himself with an intent widening of his eyes, “ _blank_.” He maintains that strange, wide-eyed look for a moment while you stare at him very confused about what he’s doing. He drops an eyebrow, then laughs, “hah! oh shit, I forgot I can’t do that anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” He laughs over himself as he starts gesturing vaguely around his eyes.

“look, look, you gotta just. ugh ok you gotta kinda _flex_ your eyes; it’s like a muscle you don’t know you have.”

“Like what? Like moving your ears?”

“humans can move their ears?” Sans looks wowed.

“Well, not _all_ of them, and not that much. Just a little-” You shimmy your hands side-to-side next to your ears and make some _Sh-sh-sh_ sounds. He laughs with his face buried in his hands.

“ok, ok, just. try. move your ears but with your eyes.”

“I don’t what THAT means but I will try.” You imagine the feeling of flexing your eyes. There’s another comparison that comes to mind: unfocusing your eyes. You blur your vision, and Sans looks excited. “Did I do it?”

“close! you made em all fuzzy! you just gotta like-” He clicks his tongue, as if that will provide any clarity on what you have to do. You imagine that click with your eyes, pushing your eyelights just one step beyond the fuzz. The pushing becomes almost like a real pressure in your head, then _Click_! “yeah! ya did it!” Your bones jump, and you scramble to your closet door mirror. You find your face completely normal and skeletal, nothing different about it.

“Aw, what!” Your disappointment is immeasurable.

“you got too excited, do it again.” You focus on the fuzziness, watching as your eyelights become blurred, then _Click_! Your eye sockets are void of their usual light, only eerie depths of darkness. You slap your hands to your cheeks and gasp as you rock towards the mirror for a closer look. Inside, you can’t see any indication of the inner walls of your skull; total darkness swallows any light that enters.

“Woah! That’s so cool! Ahhh!” You quietly shriek as you continue to stare into the void, it’s amazing.

“heh, yeah. I’ve bestowed one of my greatest powers upon you. now use it wisely, my _pupil_.” Your eyes return – as it does take some effort to keep them black – as sizable pools of light that shine with excitement. You snort at Sans’ joke, playfully shoving his arm.

“Lollllll shut up! Pupil lollllll.” You void your eyes again, much easier now. You watch your eyes void and relight over and over in the mirror. This may become a new habit. As you stare enamored at the mirror, Sans makes his way back to the desk, fiddling around with the pencil, looking at the sketch he drew. You don’t make note of him in your peripherals, not a thought about what’s on his mind. You startle when he speaks up.

“so, uh, we could pop back to my place for a bit, if you want.” You peer at him through the mirror.

“Well, we _could_ , but do we have to?” You aren’t sure why he suddenly suggested leaving when everything has been nice in your apartment since yesterday.

“I… want to, if you’re cool with it.”

“Oh! Yeah, we can go. Sorry, didn’t realize.” You turn around as you respond, and Sans looks at your face with some curiosity. He sees the genuine air of your response, a bit perplexed at the idea that you really didn’t pick up on what he was implying before. He shakes it off. Guess you’re just not super observant, that’s what he assumes. He holds out his hand for you with a smirk.

“all aboard, the sans express is ready for takeoff.” You huff a laugh and smile. You flick off the bedroom light before you meet Sans next to the desk.

“Ooo~ a personal escort?”

“not the first time I’ve given you a ride, Y/N, won’t be the last.” He winks and delights in your shocked expression before promptly blinking you both out of the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so, go listen to Speedwagon cause they're good, also Be The Cowboy is an album by Mitski, and I highly recommend you listen to her music. That's not really what I want to talk about though. The past couple of weeks I've been really depressed, which is why I'm super late posting this chapter. Not to make excuses, I just don't like disappearing without any explanation. And thank you all so much for continuing to read (We hit over 1,000 hits since last chapter :) ) and commenting. I know I don't respond to each comment, but I do read them all and they're a huge motivator for me writing this fic. Since I'm posting it so late in the week, there isn't gonna be time for me to write another chapter before Monday. I did, however, write a oneshot fic to vent this past week, so I could post that if yall are interested. The next chapter for this fic is probably gonna be December 7th, so stick around. And let me know in the comments if yall wanna read that vent fic.  
> See you soon :)


	8. REWRITE UPDATE: What's the plan?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not a new chapter. I wanted to let you guys in on what I'm doing behind the scenes.

Hey. First of all, I want to apologize for suddenly ghosting without any updates for the past month. I was going through a lot mentally and with school and stress. I didn't have new chapters to give, so I just disappeared. I also want to say how much I appreciate you guys for reading, leaving kudos and comments, and just showing your love for what I'm writing. It's really big for someone who's never really contributed creatively to the fandoms he loves to receive so much positive feedback for something I never imagined was all that good.

The whole bodyswap concept is one that I think is a lot of fun and has a lot of potential for emotional stories. It also has a lot of potential for exploring YOU. Like, some people may just think that bodyswaps are cool, but I think the underlying theme at the heart of bodyswapping is the challenge of self-love and self-hatred. A lot of us probably like to read stories like this because we want to know how it feels to walk in someone else's shoes, how it feels to BE someone else. It's comforting to imagine living someone else's life because it seems so much better. I want to capture that fantasy of living someone else's life while also maintaining the reality that everyone has certain aspects of life that are better, and some that are worse. That contrast is something I've been wrestling with for a while. I don't feel that the original story captures that contrast. The original story was also very aimless. I had very broad ideas of where I wanted to take it, but they didn't work very well story-wise.

I have a proper goal and story-line in mind now, and I feel that this new outline I'm working out will work MUCH better than the old one. I don't want to worry you guys, so let me assure you. The story is still between Underfell Sans and male Y/N. It's still a bodyswap fic, and it's still going to have lots of angst and fluff. I haven't yet written the first chapter, but I do want to leave yall with something, so here's a very brief summary teaser thing:

Notes. Sans was unsure of where they came from, or who wrote them, but there were strange notes hidden in his bedroom. He had to wonder, should he follow where these notes were leading?

Heh, yeah, it's kind of a cheesy teaser, but I hope it sounds interesting enough for yall to stick around! I don't really have an estimate for WHEN the first chapter will go up, but it will be sometime probably in January or February. Again, thank you all for sticking around and supporting my fic for the past couple months. I hope you'll enjoy this new story. Have a good day, and a happy New Year. Hope 2021 will be good for everyone. See you soon :)


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